


Saying What You Mean

by faeleverte



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AO3 1 Million, First Time, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, Office Sex, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 13:40:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1187349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeleverte/pseuds/faeleverte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He <i>knew</i> Clint was joking, indulging in his standard flirty wordplay. Hell, their friendship was founded on a solid base of Clint’s flirtations and Phil’s utter refusal to respond with anything more than deadpan sarcasm. And, if Phil sometimes imagined the same words being repeated against his naked skin during his <i>alone-time</i>, well, that was his business. This time, though, Phil decided to hand it back.</p><p>After all, there's no chance things will get awkward, because Clint's on a mission. Or is he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saying What You Mean

**Author's Note:**

> This is all [Kathar's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kathar/pseuds/Kathar) fault. She knows what she did, and she is not remotely ashamed of herself. Thanks for the inspiration, the laughter, and the late nights with Detective Eyelashes and the Lady with the Phans. Thank you also for helping me grow this silly little joke into a story.
> 
> And readers owe as much gratitude to [Selana](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Selana/pseuds/Selana) as I do for helping to make this readable and understandable and full of all the details you need to enjoy the story. Also for the friendship and shared links and laughter and understanding, I give her deepest thanks.

Another Friday night in his office when everyone in his department had long since gone home. The night staff was in another wing of the building, so Phil was alone with his computer and his coffeepot. Clint, who usually sat on his couch and entertained (annoyed) him with bad jokes and attempts to launch paperclips into his coffee cup (they always went in), was away on a mission with someone else. 

Phil looked at the clock in the corner of his monitor and sighed. He keyed in another line of information, glanced at the clock again and grabbed for his phone. If the mission was active, Clint would have his ringer off. If he was pacing around the interior of the ops van, waiting on the go sign, he would welcome the distraction of a message. Phil had seen it often enough while Clint was texting busily with Natasha or Jasper or any of his myriad admirers and associates during down time on missions.

He picked up his phone and keyed in a quick note.

_Eight pages done._

Phil pressed send and swung his work scowl back to the screens before him. He typed in the number of the next form, sighed, typed the name on the next line, and was delighted when a text alert interrupted him.

_W00T! Ur the master bossman_

Fighting the urge to smile at the typical Clint reply, Phil quickly typed another message.

_Just fourteen more to go._

He only had to wait a few seconds for Clint to answer.

_Ur lovn evry min Admit it_

Phil snorted at Clint’s perpetual txtspk. Weren’t they both getting a little too old for that nonsense? Nonetheless, Phil thumbed in a reply..

_Already bored, and I still have hours to go. Fuck me._

There was a longer wait with no reply after he hit send, and Phil concluded that Clint was still on-mission and things must have gotten busy. He got eight more lines of information typed before his phone chimed again.

_can do. any particular requests?_

Paperwork was momentarily forgotten. So, apparently, was the knowledge of how to breathe, as Phil discovered when he started coughing. He took a rapid swallow from his coffee mug, long gone cold.

He _knew_ Clint was joking, indulging in his standard flirty wordplay. Hell, their friendship was founded on a solid base of Clint’s flirtations and Phil’s utter refusal to respond with anything more than deadpan sarcasm. And, if Phil sometimes imagined the same words being repeated against his naked skin during his _alone-time_ , well, that was his business. This time, though, Phil decided to hand it back. Indulge his own flights of fancy for a change. He thought of the intense look Clint had given him just before boarding the jet the day before. Phil had tried to convince himself it was just pre-mission nerves. But maybe… 

He typed one word and pressed send.

_Hard_

The reply was immediate.

_always bb_

Phil grinned wolfishly as he typed the next descriptor.

_Standing_

The answer caught his breath in his throat again.

_I can certainly work with that_

Phil thought for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of continuing this silly little exchange. On the one hand, he might give away too much, playing a very dangerous game with a very dangerous man. On the other… On the other, it was the perfect opportunity to both return Clint’s flirting and maybe release a little of his own tension. He decided to play up his fantasies. And oh _God_ , did he have fantasies where Clint was concerned.

_Deeply_

He didn’t wait for an answer before sending another:

_Dirty_

And another:

_Breathless_

Another:

_Leaning on my desk_

Followed by:

_Senseless_

He sent one last reply:

_To completion_

A reply came through this time:

_I didnt know u had it in u_

Phil laughed and quickly sent:

_I don’t. Yet._

Tossing his phone onto his desk, Phil tried to shake the images he’d put in his own mind and go back to his paperwork. He wondered what Clint was thinking, if he’d laughed or if his breath had hitched just a bit, if he had made that “ew gross” face he made whenever Felix in accounting started talking about his sex life. Eh, easy to play off as a joke. Not like Clint could tell Phil was sitting at his desk sporting an impressive semi for a man of his years who had, as yet, received no physical stimulation. 

Tonight’s shower would be a good one.

Phil studied the next name on the list, trying to puzzle it out. Theoretically, it was “Hoffman,” but Phil had never seen it spelled "Ho CLOUD CLOUD SCRIBBLE" before.

He picked up his phone to text his observation to Clint, and noticed it had been four minutes since sending his last message. Phil minimized the data entry window and flipped to the screen for active missions, wanting to watch Clint in action. Well, to listen to him, at least.

“Z-7-8-6-5-9,” he typed carefully, and so what if he had memorized Clint’s comm code; he used it often enough when they were on ops together. The mission report popped up on his screen. The _completed_ mission report. From the mission that had wrapped nine hours before. 

Oh. Oh _Fuck me_ , indeed.

Clint was on base. Had likely landed sometime during Phil’s wild text-a-thon. 

Phil grabbed his phone to send another text to defuse the situation. Before…

KNOCKAKNOCKAKNOCKA

Before that happened on his office door.

“Come in, Barton,” Phil called, pulling his blandest tone out of his polished shoes and clinging to it like a drowning man to a log.

The door slammed open, rebounding off the wall and swinging shut as Clint came flying into the office and swept towards Phil’s desk. For the umpteenth time that evening, Phil stopped breathing. 

“Oh, I intend to,” Clint growled, stalking around the side of the desk and twisting Phil’s chair to bring them face to face. “I intend to do a lot of things involving coming, in, and you.”

Phil tried to roll his chair away, but Clint easily grabbed his lapels and pulled him up, flush against Clint’s chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again just in time for the hot press of Clint’s lips against his own. It was a gentle, longing kiss, completely at odds with the trembling tension running through Clint’s shoulders. And when had Phil’s hands come up to clutch at those shoulders?

“You meant that, didn’t you, you bastard,” Clint said against Phil’s lips. He locked one arm around Phil’s waist, curving his body enough to fit a hand between them to begin divesting Phil of his tie. “You fucking _meant_ those texts. Been thinking about it awhile? Were you waiting for me to get back? What made you decide that now was the time to finally do something about it?”

“Clint,” Phil said, shrugging to help Clint pry him free from his suit jacket, even though some part of him was doing a frantic fan dance to remind him how bad of an idea this was. It was against protocol, and it could… it could… Were Clint’s eyes always this green, or only when he was about to… “Mfph!” Phil managed to demand, just as Clint’s mouth closed on his, hotter and harder this time.

Phil wrapped both hands around Clint’s biceps -- finally get to grab those biceps! -- and held on for dear life while he opened his lips to Clint’s marauding tongue.

“I’ve known, Phil,” Clint said, pulling away from devouring Phil’s lips to nose up his jaw. “Hell, I’ve tried to make sure you knew I felt the same, but I know how you are about rules. Fuck!” Phil groaned, digging his fingers harder into the knotted muscles under his hands as Clint’s teeth latched onto his earlobe for a second. “Been waiting for you to make the first move for ages. I was going to, though, tonight. Couldn’t wait anymore. Need you. All of you.”

“Clint, wait,” Phil managed to gasp, trailing off into a sound that could only be classified as a whimper when Clint’s large palm found his butt and squeezed. His arms tightened around Clint’s shoulders of their own accord, trying to pull him closer, while his mouth was still trying to untangle their bodies. “We should talk about this.”

“Wha’s to talk about, baby,” Clint murmured, hand sliding along Phil’s ribs and tugging at his shirt, pulling free the tails and sliding underneath. “You said everything I hoped to hear by text. Oh, fuck, you feel good against me.”

“Babe...” Phil began, desperately trying not rut against Clint’s thigh as it was pressed between his legs. “I mean ‘Clint.’ CLINT!”

Clint took a deep breath and peeled his hands off of the skin of Phil’s sides. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, starting to pull away. He ducked his head and turned, not looking at Phil. “I… I kinda got carried away. I thought that…”

Phil imagined watching Clint’s ass and arms walk out the door and nearly whimpered.

You know what? Fuck protocol. 

“You thought right,” Phil said, grabbing Clint’s arm before he could take more than one step. “I just… This is… We’re not supposed… I mean… I’d like to… That is, if you want...”

Phil reeled Clint back into his arms, pressing his lips to Clint’s again to shut himself up. Clint let Phil take the lead, holding still and panting as Phil moved on to nibbling on the ridge of muscle down the side of Clint’s neck

“Yes, I want,” Clint whispered. He was shaking under Phil’s mouth. “Ohhhh, fuck! I want.”

Phil slipped his hands down to grab Clint’s ass, pulling him in until their hips were pinned tightly together. 

“You know we could get caught,” Phil whispered into Clint’s ear, feeling Clint shiver. “Doing this...” He rocked his entire body, creating friction that made them both hiss. “Right here in my office.”

“Oh GOD, Phil!” Clint said against Phil’s neck. He bit once, gently, eliciting another moan from Phil, and then his hand wiggled between their bodies and started working loose Phil’s belt. “Talk to me. Wanna hear you. Use that dirty fucking mouth you showed me earlier.”

“We should really take this to…” And then Clint’s hand was inside Phil’s boxers, wrapped tightly around his now positively-rigid erection. Phil finished his sentence in nothing but squeaks and one long squeal.

“Come on, babe,” Clint muttered against his lips. “Wanna see you shake apart. Want your come on me.”

They could have this. They _were_ going to have this. As long as they kept it reasonably discreet it didn’t get in the way of missions, no one was likely to care. And it was not as if Marcus could afford to get rid of Phil _or_ Clint. And he was always bitching at Phil to get some action and blow off some steam.

He quickly brought both hands down to flip open Clint’s belt and shove his pants out of the way. Fucker had gone commando on his mission. Again.

Phil held his hand in front of Clint’s face and commanded, “Lick.”

Clint’s eyes went impossibly greener, and he stuck out his tongue, sweeping it across Phil’s palm and fingers.

“We’ll put that to some other uses later,” Phil told him, eyes locked on that pink tongue. He reached down to wrap his now-damp hand around Clint’s cock. Clint closed his eyes and moved his free hand up from Phil’s ribs to the back of his neck, pulling their lips together. 

For several long moments, there was just the harsh panting of their breath into each other’s mouths, the slap of skin as they worked each other frantically, and the occasional creak of Phil’s desk against the side of his thigh. 

After barely five minutes of rutting against each other like teenagers, Clint’s head dropped back as he whined desperately and rose to his toes, his whole body clenching as he came over Phil’s hand. Phil leaned in to bite the exposed throat as he gently worked Clint through his climax, but that proved his own undoing. The shift in angle added a bit more friction to the drag on his cock, and he ended up mostly draping himself along Clint’s massive chest as he shouted through his own orgasm and his legs tried to give out.

Clint was shuddering against him when Phil finally started to regain control of his limbs. It took a moment for Phil to realize the shaking was laughter. 

“For the past three days, I’ve been planning on asking you to join me back in my quarters tonight, order pizza, watch a movie,” Clint said, locking one arm around Phil’s waist. He dropped a kiss on Phil’s nose before leaning over to snag a couple of tissues out of the box on the desk to clean himself up. “And then my brain kind of short-circuited when you started sending those texts. Just wanted to get down here. See you.” He tossed the tissues into the trash without looking and ran the pads of his fingers over Phil’s lips, touch feather-light. “Touch you.”

Phil blinked at him owlishly, completely unable to think of a thing to say.

Clint pulled out a few more tissues and handed them to Phil. 

“That was okay?” Clint asked shyly as Phil wiped his hand. “I mean, I guess I should’ve, I don’t know, asked how you… Or how we...?”

Phil found his voice.

“Yeah, Clint,” he said, rough, wrecked from screaming. He dropped his handful of tissues in the trash and reached for Clint’s face to bring their lips back together. “Yes. That was good.” He licked at Clint’s bottom lip and then pulled back to grin. “That was very, very good.”

Clint hummed against his lips and returned the kiss gently. It already felt familiar, his mouth against Phil’s own.

“Wanna grab a bite from the cafeteria and take it back to my quarters?” Clint asked, pressing himself against Phil and laying his head on Phil’s shoulders. “Maybe something like a date?”

“Hell no,” Phil said, pulling away to power down his computer and collect his jacket and tie from the floor. “My apartment has a real kitchen, a bigger tv, and a much bigger bed. We’ll both sleep better there.”

“Sounds good to me,” Clint said, grinning as they both refastened their pants and headed to the door. “Just let me pick up a few things before we go.”

Phil bit his tongue to keep from telling Clint to just bring it all and stay. There’d be time for that discussion later. But maybe _not_ via text.

**Author's Note:**

> This is likely to turn into a collection or a series; this is a risk I'm willing to take.
> 
> As always your comments and kudos are the trophies I stuff and mount on the wall. Thanks to each of you for reading!
> 
> Come visit me on tumblr at [faeleverte](http://faeleverte.tumblr.com).


End file.
